


What I've Tasted of Desire

by sidewalksofny



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hockey AU, M/M, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewalksofny/pseuds/sidewalksofny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quick H/L hockey fic in response to that picture of Louis in the Canadiens jersey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I've Tasted of Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice" (I know, I know, I'm the worst). Two semi-related vignettes.

"Come on, ref! Are you blind?!?! He was completely off-sides!!!" For a human being of as small stature and physique as Louis Tomlinson, he sure was making a hell of a lot of noise. A glance to the stands confirmed Harry’s suspicions that by now he’d begun pacing back and forth in the bleachers, half-manically mumbling and wildly waving his arms every which way. Zayn, seated nearby, nodded with sympathetic (albeit completely uncomprehending) eyes. 

"Alright, alright, Styles, off, Payne, take right wing, let’s go, let’s go, we haven’t got all day!" Coach Winston banged the sideboards, and Harry made a beeline for the bench, collapsing next to Niall and reaching for his water bottle.

"Yeh’d better tell Tommo up there to cool it or he’s gonna get kicked out. ‘Snot even a championship or anythin’. Just a regular game."

Harry smiled. “He’s… passionate."

Niall snorted. “Ya think?"

As if on cue, an agonized groan erupted from above them as Liam missed a shot on an open net. “Come onnnn, fellas!!"

Niall leaned forward, eyes on the ice, and nudged Harry with his shoulder. “Why don’t you try teaching him to skate, get him on the ice? Might as well play if he’s gonna yell about it all the time."

Harry full-out laughed at that and shook his head, because it had taken every coaxing method he knew in existence—including promises of hot chocolate, massages, and a long and slowly mumbled list of promises for that evening—just to get Louis out onto the ice, at which point he had wobbled furiously and clutched at Harry’s steady hands for about five minutes before windmilling his arms until he crashed into the wall and determinedly inching his way back to the gate, swearing under his breath the whole way. “Nah, I think he’s better off sticking to the soccer field."

"Styles! Horan! You ready? Styles, left D; Payne, move to mid; Horan, take over right wing; Bres, McDermott, off!"

Harry and Niall jammed their helmets back on and jumped over the boards. Half a period to go.

~~~~~~~

"C’mon, Lou. Seriously."

Harry stood in his hockey pants and undershirt, rubbing his nose impatiently. He had everything else ready—pads and skates packed, water bottle frozen, stick ready and waiting by the door. The only thing he needed was being inconveniently worn by Louis, who sat cross-legged on the floor in only Harry’s hockey jersey and white briefs, completely lost in his game of Fifa. Normally Harry would be charmed, but. He had to go. 

He planted himself in front of the TV, hands on his hips. “Lou."

Louis paused the game and looked up at him through narrowed eyes, huffing out air through his nostrils. “Was that really necessary?"

"The game’s in an hour. I need it."

Louis looked down at the jersey and then back up to Harry, quirking his eyebrows. “What, this?" He asked, plucking at the shirt. Louis tossed the controller aside and stood up with a sigh. “Harold, Harold, Harold," he clucked, backing Harry up against a wall. “You know very well there’s only one way to get this off me." He leaned in quickly then, sucking soft little marks all over Harry’s neck.

Harry’s head tilted back against as he let out a half-whine, half-moan. “Louuuuu, we haven’t got tiiiiiime."

"Nonsense," Louis whispered into Harry’s collarbones. “There’s always time." He slipped Harry’s hands under the jersey and placed them at his waist—just as a starting point, really, because he knew that was all Harry would need—before bringing his own hands up to Harry’s face to pull him in for a kiss.

Sure enough, Harry suddenly surged forward, licking hot and desperate into Louis’ mouth and letting his hands massage into Louis, fingers wandering up his chest as if this weren’t happening for the millionth-and-first time. Louis thumbed over Harry’s cheekbones and made a soft noise, just enough for Harry to feel the vibration in Louis’ chest. He leaned into Harry in earnest now, the thin cotton of his briefs doing absolutely nothing to hide his quickly hardening cock, which might have been embarrassing if not for the way Harry had one hand behind Louis’ back, pulling him in, and the other running over his collarbones, his pecs, his nipples, with unbearable eagerness, as if he were trying to touch all of Louis at once.

Harry broke away suddenly, a light smack popping from their lips. “Right. Let’s get this off you, mmm?" He rucked up the jersey around Louis’ armpits and pulled it over his head. “Always thought it looked better on the floor."


End file.
